I'm doing this this morning because this is what you do. I don't really know what else to do, and I've already done this, this, and this, which is basically just like what I'm about to do, so if you go read it, you'll either be really bored or catch me in an inconsistency.

As I recall, I don't think she actually woke me from a sound sleep, I think she just got me out of bed, where I was soaking up morning quiet. The mood was good before that morning - four friends of ours had married recently, and Christie was really amazingly pregnant and would be giving birth soon. I recall standing on our rug - the one Max would eventually pour white paint on - and watching the coverage of the attacks. I still went to work, but I did nothing productive or of consequence all day except watch primary Big Three network coverage on my old TV with the stickers on it and rabbit ears sitting on the edge of the work table with not enough extension cord. Truth be told, that day is part of the reason I keep hanging on to that TV.

We had a discussion group that night - which was supposed to be a Comics Night where adult friends of mine sat around and read comics at one another - and I eventually put an American flag out in front of our house. I was not then, and have not really ever been a nationalist, but I did feel two things: one, it was the quick, available symbol of the time, and remembrance of the dead was paramount, and also I was deeply, internally offended for the 3000 people who had the promise of what I believe America to be about - the right to live free from other people's oppressive beliefs, a promise that rarely pans out like I think it should - ripped away from them. I displayed the flag then for the same reason I hold Captain America as my favorite superhero - it's all about the idea, the promise and the responsibility. My flag came down, as did many, when we saw how it was getting exploited in a post 9/11 world.

The next 17 days for me is kind of a blur - I remember getting the newspaper on the 12th and holding onto it, knowing that it would important, and doing likewise with TIME magazine and Marvel Comics' fundraiser issues. I basically bought one of those for every person I knew who I thought would want one. I remember the absolute certainty that we would end up going to war over this, no matter what, and the outpouring of support and brotherhood from the rest of the world. Yeah, remember that? I remember when TV football was insane with 9/11 stuff, and when it was inescapable. For a long time. At the end of 17 days, my world refocused completely with the birth of my son.

Now, I'm looking forward to the rebuilding, which I posted a picture of at the top of this blog. I want my family to be able to go there when everything is opened up and see what there is to see when we put things back together. Destruction takes only moments. Building takes a long time, and is usually worth it. I look forward to seeing the results.

Colan (along with Steve Ditko, Neal Adams and the Buscemabrothers) is responsible for much of the art style I became used to at an early age and is one of the artists responsible for making Marvel Comics look so much more foreboding and dramatic than what DC was doing during the early 70s. When I picture Blade or even Daredevil, it's Colan's work I see. Sorry, Frank.

Colan also worked extensively on Howard the Duck. You either get Howard or you saw the movie. Moving on...

Colan was a white guy who co-created two longstanding and groundbreaking African-American superhero characters. He was ahead of the comics curve on civil rights issues and also just liked to draw black people. The Falcon was in Captain America comics at the time when Cap needed a black voice, and he was no sidekick - the title was equally distributed between them. Without Blade, it's possible that there would be no Marvel movies right now; it was the success of the first Blade movie that pushed the first X-Men movie into development, and so on and so forth. So thanks, Gene, not only for your groundbreaking work and cool art style, but also for hours of entertainment you never intended.

Colan never stopped working, and admitted to taking speed during the 70s and 80s to meet deadlines. He won an Eisner award two years ago for something he worked on with Ed Brubaker, and did insert stuff for Rob Zombie's comic company, too.

Falk was a sentimental badass, a guy who came off on-screen as someone who wouldn't take any crap, but was in touch with himself enough to let his feelings out, too. He was a legend in TV, performing on this or that "Sponsored Variety Hours" before Gleason and Skelton had shows named after them. He had enough street cred to be invited to the roast of Frank Sinatra, for fuck's sake. I still enjoy him in Murder, Inc. and hear his voice when my kids watch Shark Tale.

Oh, and one more thing: Falk was Lt. Columbo, he of the amazing brains encased in a turgid, rumpled raincoat and hidden behind a fog of supposed confusion and cigar smoke. I absolutely fell in love with the smart-ass, smarter-than-you Columbo the first time I saw one, and have the whole series on my Netflix queue right now right behind some Sherlock Holmes. Fitting, since in every way other than results, Columbo is the anti-Holmes.

Finally, though, Peter Falk played the grandfather who reads the book of The Princess Bride to his grandson in the movie. This is one of his best roles, even though he doesn't see much screen time, he's the bookends on the movie, even adding what feels like real-life poignancy to its most crucial line, "As you wish." For this, I owe Peter Falk immensely, as he is part of not just a film important to me, but almost everyone I know, and both my kids, too.

Might be time this evening to watch the Princess Bride and veg out on some old Columbo movies, too.

I avoided it for a while, because everyone else thinks it's awesome, and I hate that kind of pressure. I can't like something just because everyone else does (it's not even in me to pretend) and if you hate it and bring it up then you're attacking someone's sacred reading material, so I end up defaulting to the Thumper Rule. To get around this, I usually require a personal recommendation of the strength of last Summer's collective Colleen/Amy/Josh insistence that I read Stieg Larsson's books (thanks, guys) to get me to read something that I'm late to the party on, especially if there's hype. Like a movie in production and stuff.

Anyway, I busted out and read it. I was struck initially by boredom, as I found myself in yet another dystopian future oppressive society, familiar ground for a reader of sci-fi and fantasy. I realize that this is YA, but one wonders if they don't find this to be a bit of re-tread, too. Anyway, a chapter and a half in, I was comparing it to Stephen King's The Running Man, and never really stopped. Other people have made this comparison, and also to the 2000 Japanese movie Battle Royale. Knowing what I know about both, Hunger Games seems like kind of remix version (it's gonna be hot) of both of those things with a strong female protagonist, and written for a YA audience. There is a lot of brutal violence and graphic descriptions, so much that I don't know if I would encourage Max to read it or not. Maybe. It would certainly be a good place to start, and see what he thinks. I don't think he'd be irrevocably damaged by the experience or anything. I think I'd point him at Doctorow first, though.

I ended up liking it. It's tightly written, and comparisons aside, it was enjoyable, captivating and interesting. The societal dystopia ends up being more of a backdrop than anything, so there's no real plodding through the emotional "even if they win, they lose" aspect of those that I inevitably encounter when they turn up. I have Catching Fire on order (it was unavailable for the foreseeable future at the library), and will snag Mockingjay when I'm done with that, providing the quality level continues.

It's been a challenging series of highs and lows the last few days, and the rain falling like a hysteric's tears over the lightning outside would comfort me if I thought the intention to wash it all away might possibly be behind it. C's asleep on the couch with the remotes and a giant bottle of soda, wrapped in a blue comforter while Max half-snoozes at 43 minutes past midnight watching the first couple of Harry Potter films in reverse order. Abby's crashed in the general chaos of play that is Max's room, and I'm taking a short break from finishing The Hunger Games, a book I'm enjoying a lot more than I thought I would. The escape is necessary.

We went from the heady time-burning and pleasantries of an out-of-town visit straight into C's final NiH performance of the year, and one at which she spoke emotionally and elegantly on rights and reasons. I once again worked stage left, and it was harder than it has been in times past, but also more enjoyable. The next day, our guests moved on, and we helped a friend move out of his current situation and into a better one. Much sweat and joy was experienced. Last night we also had our 16th anniversary dinner, which was a welcome respite from the rest of the world, and much needed time together. Also, it made me miss a Stanley Cup game it sounds like I'm glad I missed. The good feelings continued into this morning, and then the day went to shit.

Beginning with failure errands (mostly) and ending with family tumult, the back three-quarters of today uniformly sucked, and I'm glad they're now in the past. I'm tired of outpouring and am thinking of simply retreating to my rooms with a stack of books and large glasses of water. Until Monday, which is the newest source of household friction; the WBC is coming here on Monday, and we can't seem to agree on an approach to our counter-protesting.

I've had "an incident" with them before, so I know what NOT to do, but...

The most important thing that this movie does is establish why the most popular color for mutants - other than any of the standard normal human skin tones - is blue. Those of you wondering why there are so many blue people evident in the merry Marvel mutant movie universe will have your question answered.

Short review, because I'm 2 days late with it, having seen it on Monday: Some ridiculous tropes of Hollywood aside, I loved it. It was a lot of fun, and I haven't enjoyed any X-Men movie this much since the first one in 2000, and not just because of my previously stated expectation - the film itself goes out of its way to make everything fresh and new again. I felt like I did when the first Iron Man came out; superhero movies that embrace their mythology this was and toss out anything that doesn't work well onscreen withouth becoming so bloody realistic and serious in the process are a lot of fun to watch. When they fail at this process is when they fail onscreen.

People will argue as to whether or not Kevin Bacon works as a bad guy, but they are wasting their breath, because he does. He totally comes off as dispassionately evil in kind of a foppish and bored way, like someone who gets into being evil because he has a lot of money and spare time, which is what Sebastian Shaw is supposed to be about.

Go see it; lots of fun and cool 60s clothes and music, every character actor that's ever worked in Hollywood is in this thing (should be a drinking game, actually), you will get all mixed up in your feelings about young Magneto and Xavier, and awesomeness abounds.

I woke up this morning from a dream wherein, in order to fool some people who were looking for me, I killed myself. I continued to go on after killing myself however - it was clear that no suicidal impulse was involved, simply a masterstroke of doing what no one would ever expect. The me that I killed wasn't entirely me either, since I went on to critique my work, discuss the decision with others and finally, foil the villains of the dream. One wonders what terrible thing they had in store for me that would have been worse than my actual plan for foiling them. The logic of the dream was terribly muddled, as dream "logic" often is, but it made perfect sense at the time. Of course.

I got up, then, and made blueberry muffins and coffee, moving very slowly. Outside, walking the dog with my daughter, Abby turns to me and asks, "If the grocery store is always open, why do the doors have locks?" While there is a perfectly good reason for the locks, I am reluctant to give it. I am more amused by the question than anything, which is perfectly cromulent given the data at her disposal. The dog spent some time acting like a fruitcake and wondering, as I was, why it had to be so freaking hot so early in the morning already. Summer's being forced upon us here in Middle Tennessee.

I completed my financial aid crap this morning, and started bank accounts for both kids yesterday as part of our errands. I finished the screenplay that I wanted to write last week, and have my brother-in-law reading it now. I plan to clean my carpets this weekend. I've got a photo scavenger hunt set up for my kids for today, am thinking about swimming after I hit the store for taco night ingredients, and am going to go look at a house for sale today that I can't afford. Unfocused? Fucking. And also A.

I am beginning to think that the new messaging architecture on Facebook is broken based on the number of answerless questions I have on there. I'm planning my Summer movie schedule now, and have decided to grudgingly go see Green Lantern, even though I'm far more excited about Captain America, Super 8, Cowboys Vs. Aliens, and the movie my kids are going to make before the Summer's over. Stanley Cup Finals start tonight, and I'm hoping to have some friends over.

This is the best thing I've seen so far today. I absolutely ache for some of these people as they ponder this question, and the guy in the knit hat has the same look I see in my own eyes sometimes. Lots of the word "not" in this video, too. Santa Claus there is full of shit, and the old lady with the pearl earrings and the guy from Syria make the best faces. That couple from Boston needs to bust up right now, too. The level of honesty here is touching, though the lies are almost more revealing than the truth. Nevertheless, there should be more stuff like this.

So you've probably read everyone else's opinon of Thor by now, or seen the movie yourself.

I don't care. I didn't get to see it over opening weekend with my son as planned because of stuff you may have heard about. So I went on a Monday afternoon, just after homework. I thought it was great.

The Marvel Filmic Universe is becoming the perfect geek tapestry, fun for 36-year-old guys who read comics and their 9-year-old sons who also read comics. My son and I both enjoyed this movie completely, and on the same level, I think. He got a little bored with some of the exposition, and could have done without the kissing. "I knew it," was the response to the kissing. That's your first spoiler, and the last one I warn you about, even though I only warned you about it after it happened.

The casting is perfect (Chris Hemsworth is as pretty as Natalie Portman), and Branagh's direction does exactly the thing he's good at over and over again; swiftly taking you from really dramatic moments into amazingly funny ones with seemingly no transition. The Frost Giants are awesome, there are some great lessons about humility, honor, dedication, intelligence and friendship, and the geek moments abound: Warriors Three, Sif, Hawkeye, Nick Fury, Donald Blake, Heimdall (who completely kicks ass) and finally, Thor himself, who can easily fall into great stupid preening dipshit territory if the creators are not careful, but is played here so well by Hemsworth that you'd actually want to have a drink with him, and the film affords you that opportunity, in a way.

Best bit: Thor is expelled from Asgard for being an arrogant shithead, stripped of his power and hammer and forced to become worthy of weilding them again - the process of him doing this was by far my favorite part of the movie.

All the stuff about Beowulf and Troy and even LoTR that bored you or was stupid or off in some way is fixed here - there are a couple of weird moments, but it's easy to pass right over them, and I had a good time - it's a long movie that never seems long, and as with all Marvel movies, you need to wait for a post-credits stinger.